Tarrant's Smell
by The Abominable Princess
Summary: When Alice returns to Underland, she stays with the Hatter for a few days. Unfortunately, she finds something to be most distracting. Oneshot. Alice/Tarrant.


**A/N: This is my first story, so treat it well, yeah? R and R, please :)**

Alice was awake into the late hours of the night. She didn't have a watch (and even if she did, it wouldn't do her much good in the dark, would it?) but she suspected the time to be somewhere between midnight and early morning. A rather vague estimate, but it wouldn't do to guess completely wrong.

Her mind wandered, as minds seemed to love doing, and Alice found herself thinking of Upland; of her mother and sister, and her pathetic excuse as to why she was disappearing. A quickly-scrawled letter, detailing her intimate affair with an Indian fisherman to the point of impropriety.

_I'm sorry mother, but if Ishmar and I are to have any chance at the future we want together, I can never return to England. I beg your forgiveness._

Of course, she hadn't gone off with an Indian man named Ishmar at all. She'd spent two weeks in Upland before she was overcome with a sense of unbelievable grief. It was simple, really: she missed Underland, and everyone in it. Her friends; her strange and dysfunctional family. At the first port her ship made, she went searching for any rabbit hole she could find. Imagine her surprise when she entered Underland, not through a rabbit hole, but through a looking glass. She'd been pulled straight through by some unknown force, and ended up in the same strange room she'd remembered, where the floor was actually the ceiling and the ceiling was actually the floor.

Her friends were most pleased to see that she hadn't forgotten.

Even though it had been three months in Underland's time, there was still much to do. The queen was tirelessly rebuilding her empire, so Alice didn't feel right imposing on her in the castle. She wasn't sure if Chessur even had a house, and as much as Alice enjoyed the Tweedle's company (in carefully measured amounts) she couldn't fathom the headache she'd get if she stayed with them, even for a few days while other arrangements were being made. That left her in the position she was in now: with the Hatter.

He agreed to let her stay with him, but insisted that she would take his bed while he slept in the front hall, on a makeshift bed of bolts of fabric with a throw pillow under his head. He wouldn't budge, despite Alice's insisting, and she felt horribly guilty. After all, she had intruded in his house, and then she had taken his bed. If not for the fact that she had no where else to sleep, she would have refused him.

Oh, how she wished she could. The Hatter's bed was horribly distracting. It smelled just like him, like tea and cotton and the first good rain of spring. The sweet aroma would linger on the pillow, caressing her nose in a way that ensured she'd get absolutely no sleep. Alice hadn't even noticed that the Hatter had a smell until she'd been in his bed, and then it distracted her in the day as well. Whenever he leaned in to ask how she'd like her tea, or to give her a riddle ("Where can one find a silver gumdrop?" he'd asked. Alice was still pondering the answer.) she found that her mind became rather fuzzy.

Tonight, for the third night in a row, she was not sleeping. Except tonight, it seemed that the Hatter was not sleeping, either. Every few moments, she'd hear him whisper some inaudible words, or groan, or whimper. Every few moments Alice was torn. She knew he was having a nightmare, but didn't know whether or not she should wake him. Finally, after a clear "No!" from the front hall, Alice decided she should at least check on him.

When she got to his makeshift bed on the floor, Alice dropped to her knees next to the writhing body of the Hatter. Tentatively, she put her hand on his cheek, surprised out of her wits when he reached up and grabbed her wrist hard. He sat up, gasping and frantic. It took him a moment to gather himself and realize that it was Alice's wrist he was holding, not an anonymous assailant.

"Alice?" He asked, squinting slightly in the dark room. "What're ye doin' up?"

"I heard you out here, talking in your sleep," she said, omitting the fact that she wasn't sleeping anyway, due to the smell of his sheets. "You were having a nightmare. Are you all right?"

"Aye," he said, though his body was telling a different story. He had yet to drop her wrist, and Alice could feel his hand shaking. It must have been quite the nightmare.

"What was it about?"

"The Frabjous day."

Now Alice was confused. Surely, the Frabjous day was a victory for Underland. The Jabberwocky had been slain, and the Red Queen was defeated. No one had been substantially hurt in the battle. Why would he have such nightmares? Not even she had been plagued by the image of the beast, though she thought she would have been.

"Tarrant," she said, though saying his given name was still rather new to her, "What about the Frabjous day gives you nightmares? And, if you don't mind, I'd rather like to have my wrist back."

Even in the dark she could see his flush as he released her, mumbling an apology. He shifted a bit. Alice waited. "It's not what _actually _happened that gives me nightmares," he explained, "But rather, all the things that could have happened; the things that could have happened to you, specifically."

As he said the last bit he looked at Alice as if he'd just betrayed a terrible secret. Then he looked away from her, down at his lap. His hands nervously toyed with his fabric blanket. Alice inched a bit further and wordlessly took his hand. His tension seemed to ease at the contact.

After a few moments of silence, Alice spoke. "My father told me once that when I was having a bad dream, all I needed to do was pinch myself to wake up."

"In my nightmares I am always much too panicked to think about pinching myself. Although, that would be very good advice if it wasn't the case. Your father is a very smart man, Alice."

"Was," she corrected him. "My father was a very smart man. He died."

Tarrant squeezed her hand. Alice felt the tears starting. After all the years, it still hurt her sometimes. Especially in the times she'd least want to cry. Tarrant moved closer and held her cheek. "Alice..? I didn't mean to hurt you… Alice?"

"No, it's fine. It doesn't hurt as much as it used to. It used to hurt everywhere, all the time."

"Where does it hurt now?" He asked, looking her directly in the eyes. He was too close. And she was too underdressed, in only a nightgown, for this to be proper. But proper be damned, because his smell was thick in the space between them and Alice started to feel quite bold behind her tears. She took his hand in hers and led it to her left breast, right above her heart. "It hurts here," she whispered.

Tarrant's eyes were dark gray and wide. She expected him to pull away, but he didn't. His gaze was alternating between her eyes and his hand, tucked under hers. "I've hurt there, too. When my clan… when you left…"

"I'm not going anywhere. Not anymore."

He took in a shaking breath, and Alice noted that his gaze had drifted from her eyes yet again, but only slightly lower this time, lingering on her lips. "I'd like to, that is, if you wouldn't mind, if you wanted me to, if it was –"

Alice pressed a finger to his lips, quieting him. "I think I'd like that very much, Tarrant." Then, without taking his hand from its place on over her heart, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, soft and sweet and perfect. And entirely too brief. When he pulled away from her, Alice was left wanting more, although of what she wasn't sure, so she had no idea how to ask for it. The place where his hand had been felt… strange, like it was cool and burning at the same time. What an odd reaction.

"Why don't I stay here, with you?" She asked, and at his wide-eyed expression, she felt compelled to add "Because if your dream self knows that I'm with your awake self, safe and sound, you shouldn't have nightmares, right?"

He smiled, his eyes brightening into a deep green. "I think that could work."

Alice soon found out that laying next to someone who had a smell so intoxicating wasn't necessarily a good idea. It was immeasurably worse than it was when she was alone in his bed, because she could feel him next to her, alive and warm and real. She felt rather jittery.

"I've been considering words that start with the letter 'K'…" Tarrant said after a moment of silence. "But it's quite difficult. I can't get passed the first word…"

"What is the first word, Tarrant?" Alice said, holding her breath. She was desperately hoping it was the same "K" word that was in her head. If not, she'd be very disappointed. Maybe she could share it with him if it was different.

"Kiss," came his nervous whisper. Alice turned her head, only to see him already looking at her, his eyes that same dark gray. She rolled onto her side to get a better look at him. He did the same.

"Do you want to kiss me again, Tarrant?" She asked him, putting her hand against his cheek. He nodded. "Then do it."

His lips pressed against hers again. At this close proximity, Alice inhaled through her nose and was delighted that it was filled with his smell. His taste was even better. She wondered what his touch would feel like. She wanted to find out soon.

But for now, she'd be satisfied with his taste, and with the smell that started it in the first place.


End file.
